


The Doll

by slaapkat



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaapkat/pseuds/slaapkat
Summary: John was nervous. He can’t remember ever not feeling nervous about something, but this time it feels especially bad. He wanted desperately to wring his hands with the force of it but the doll currently cradled in them prevented that.





	The Doll

John was nervous. He can’t remember ever _not_ feeling nervous about something, but this time it feels especially bad. He wanted desperately to wring his hands with the force of it but the doll currently cradled in them prevented that.  
  
It was a raggedly little thing, the stitches not quite even, the head a little bit too large, and its limbs slightly disproportionate with each each other— but John was proud, because he’d made _himself_. It was one of the few things which he possessed that he considered very precious. He’d made it, just before leaving Arkham. Some arts and crafts something or other activity that was intended as dual parts therapy and reward for good behavior, John wasn’t entirely sure. What mattered was that _he’d_ made it, that it was _his_ , and subsequently he was fiercely protective of what it represented.   
  
The doll was _Bruce_. Or, at least, it was intended to _look_ like him. John had recreated his appearance to the best of his ability, piecing it together from snippets of what he could remember of Bruce both in real life and what he’d occasionally catch on the TV.   
  
There was only so much John could do with the supplies he had on hand, threads clumsily cut with plastic scissors and sewn in with dull needles, but he’d tried. He’d given the mini-Bruce that charcoal grey suit he’d always thought Bruce looked especially sharp in, complimented by a similarly colored tie and a wide smile that John added simply because he really, _really_ liked seeing Bruce smile, even if most of what he saw it on the TV looked fake and most of Bruce’s expressions during his time in the Asylum varied between something vaguely nauseous and deeply concerned.   
  
But Bruce _did_ have a nice smile. John knew that now, he’d _seen_ it. Sometimes even directed at _him_ , and _boy_ wasn’t that something.   
  
John brushed a thumb over one of the Bruce-doll’s button eyes. Harley hadn’t liked it, the doll. _It’s a doll._ _Grown ups don’t play with dolls, pudds_ , she’s said, her words laced with what John now recognized as condescending scorn, _you’re all grown up now, aren’t you?_ __  
__  
_It’s just, I made it in Arkham, I thought you’d like it—_ __  
__  
_Well, you ain’t in Arkham anymore, are ya?_ __  
  
John had smiled and agreed at the time, albeit reluctantly, ever so eager for Harley’s approval, but could never bring himself to go so far as throw the doll away. He took to hiding it, tucking it away out of sight during the rare times Harley deigned to come all the way down to visit him in the _Ha-Hacienda_ , because even if he didn’t quite understand why _Harley_ didn’t like it, he knew it was something Bruce didn’t deserve.   
  
So. John kept the doll. He made it for himself, after all. And for Bruce, he supposed. His buddy, his _best_ buddy. Bruce would like it, he was sure.   
  
“John?”  
  
John startled, head whipping up at the sound, hands clenching involuntarily around the doll. It was— it was just Bruce. That’s right. He’d forgotten. He was in the _Ha-Hacienda_ , sitting on top of the makeshift bed that was really no more than a small pile of pallets with a cheap sleeping bag strewn atop it.   
  
They were here because Bruce asked him to come _live_ with him, John still couldn’t believe it. After that whole mess with the Agency and the Pact, John had nowhere else to go. Just as quickly as that, he had nothing.   
  
Nothing, except _Bruce_.   
  
They were here because he was going to actually _live_ with Bruce, but even if John didn’t have much to his name it didn’t mean he was all that willing to part with it. He’d just meant to grab a couple things while Bruce waited outside, just in case any Agency people were still snooping around. His spare vest, his favorite photographs, things like that. He had completely forgotten about the doll, tucked into the very back of his drawers.   
  
Bruce called his name again, now sounding worried, and John jumped to his feet, quickly hiding the doll behind his back just as Bruce stepped around the open doorway, obvious concern etched on his face with a frown that only pulled deeper when he caught sight of John’s too-wide and painfully forced smile.   
  
“John?” Bruce said again, brows knitting together. “Are... things alright? You been awful quiet for a while, is all.”  
  
“Oh!” John said brightly, immediate, his grin stretching wider. “It’s all fine! Just caught up in memories, you know.”  
  
Bruce didn’t seem to believe him, but his expression softened nonetheless, something like fondness in his eyes and _oh_ there was that smile again.   
  
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.   
  
“If... everything’s alright, then,” Bruce began, making as though to turn and leave. “I’ll—“  
  
“Actually,” John said, too quickly, smile faltering slightly. Bruce paused and looked at him, puzzled. “Actually, um, there is— something I want to show you, maybe? If, if that’s alright, y’know, I know you’re busy and all, but—“  
  
“John,” Bruce interrupted him, gentle and warm, stemming John’s babbling with a comforting touch to his shoulder. “It’s fine. Really. I promise you.”   
  
At that, Bruce raised a hand in front of him, pinkie out, smiling and good-natured. John stared, breathless, and quickly pulled a hand out from out behind his back to wrap his own pinkie around Bruce’s without hesitation. He _promised_.   
  
“Okay,” John said, taking a deep breath. Deep breath, deep breath. He could do this, Bruce would like it, it would be okay. Behind his back, he rubbed his thumb over the front of the doll. “Okay. _Okay_ , um.”  
  
Lacking anything else to say, John simply presented the doll in silence, pulling the mini-Bruce out from behind his back and holding it out for actual-Bruce to see.    
  
Bruce, at first, said nothing. His eyes widened suddenly in surprise, mouth gaping slightly. The similarities were there, John could tell that Bruce could tell. But— he wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything?  
  
“You... don’t like it?” John’s face fell. Bruce didn’t like the doll, just like Harley didn’t like it, he should have known, this was a _mistake—_  
  
Bruce reached out, then, slow and careful and unimaginably gentle, taking the doll from John’s hands. The look of surprise and mild befuddlement still hadn’t left his face. John watched him warily.   
  
“Is this supposed to be me?” Bruce spoke finally, looking up at John. He was never all that great at interpreting people’s tone, was that good? Was it bad?  
  
“...Yes?” John responded eventually. He couldn’t quite look Bruce in the eye. “I mean. I made it in Arkham, after you left. You were— a good friend, my only friend, really, and Dr. Leland told me it was good to have something, or someone, to think about as motivation for my recovery, for the therapy. And.” John swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “You were my buddy, y’know. You _are_ my buddy. So, if you don’t like it, that’s okay, I don’t have to take it with me, I just wanted to show you—“  
  
“John, this is...” Bruce’s voice was soft, and he was trailing his fingertips over the doll almost reverently. He smiled at John, a _real_ smile, like the one John had sewn into the doll, dazzling and bright and __warm. “This is great, John. You did this? You made this?”  
  
John’s breath caught in his throat. “You like it?”  
  
“Of course, I do,” Bruce chuckled, easy and amicable. “This is wonderful. It’s— I didn’t know you could sew. It’s cute, really. You want to take this with you, too?”  
  
It felt like something burst in John’s chest. “Can I?” Absurdly hopeful and so, so nervous.   
  
Bruce smiled that smile again, and John could have died. “Of course you can, John. I can tell it means a lot to you. Have you got everything you need?”  
  
He handed the doll back to John, who cradled it close to his chest and nodded.   
  
He had Bruce.   
  



End file.
